


Griffin's Queer Chicago

by InkSplatterM



Category: Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: Chicago (City), M/M, One Shot Collection, POV First Person, bed sharing technically, oxford style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 05:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16444088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSplatterM/pseuds/InkSplatterM
Summary: A collection of shorts and one shots speculating on Griffin's years in Chicago and with the Pinkertons.





	Griffin's Queer Chicago

Two years ago, when I first came to Chicago, if you asked me what I thought my future would hold I would have said a hot meal. I had little to my name beyond the clothes on my back, and all my desires were immediate. My future came along in short spurts: the next dawn, the next night, the next meal. Time counted forward second by second so I wouldn’t dwell on sorrow or longing. 

Elliot’s hand settled on my back, first low, then sliding up to my shoulder. We’d finally arrived at his building, and I was just about ready to vibrate out of my skin. 

On entering, we were greeted by Mrs. Klienstrasse, Elliot’s landlady. She was a remarkably rotund older woman, narrow at her feet and her head, and the circular outline of her body was mirrored in her profile and her smile.

“Mr. Manning, may I ask after your guest?” she said, her vowels painted with her presumably native German. She wore a long but simple necklace with a golden cross that weighed it down. She cradled the pendent in both her hands.

“Griffin Flaherty, he’s just come to Chicago and will be joining the Pinkerton Agency with me. I’ve offered him a place to sleep while he finds his feet,” said Elliot. Only just come? Seems that I has some time to make up. Perhaps by morning I’ll find my feet too. 

“Oh, you’re so kind, Mr. Manning. There should be more gentlemen like you in the world.” The landlady fairly glowed at Elliot. More gentlemen like Elliot? The world would never survive. I had to duck behind the corner of the stairwell before I burst out laughing.

Elliot managed to extract himself from the continued stream of good cheer and compliments to his generosity. He only had to take one look at me to know what I was thinking. “Not one word, Flaherty. Not one word.”

Well, now I had to push it. 

“Oh, Mr. Manning, how do you do it? Being so generous and handsome and kind.” It was too easy to mimic the landlady. I almost felt bad for making fun of her, but for the way that Elliot’s face went red.

I leaned against his back as he unlocked his door, pressing against him. “If only I could show you a great reward for that generosity.” Elliot pushed me into his apartment and shut me up with something more effective than a warning. 

Our teeth clacked together between me laughing through the kiss and him joining in however much he tried not to. 

I felt more than saw Elliot shove his thigh between my legs. My laughter choked off into a moan as I rutted against him and the erection I could feel through the layers of cloth. God, yes. I spent all day cooped up and on tenterhooks from how nervous I was over the interview, and now I could almost taste release of many different kinds. My prick was hard, straining against my trousers. There was no way that Elliot could miss it. 

“Bed?” I asked. 

“I should have you right here against the wall, boy.”

I bit my lip. It was impossible to hide how much I liked that idea. My prick throbbed at the thought and my hips stuttered up Elliot’s thigh. A little rough handling between friends was fun. 

The only annoyance was being called ‘boy’. Plenty of men called their bed mates that. Usually when they were the ones paying to keep their boy with them, no matter what their ages. I knew of one set where the ‘boy’, some failed chard sharp from out east, was five years older than his ‘man’, a local newspaper man. No one was surprised when that affair ended with the card sharp leaving town. A week later, the newspaper man had a new ‘boy’ to moon over. 

I never much liked the convention, even if I could play it well. However, Elliot had taken care of me the last couple weeks, and now, with this new job, I could take care of myself. I could indulge him calling me ‘boy’ one last night. 

“Maybe next time,” Elliot said, grinning with promise. He pulled away, taking off his coat. “Get your thighs slicked.”

I half stumbled out of my clothing, leaving my things scattered about the floor. Elliot kept a small crate of medical supplies near his bed. As it happened, he had a jar of Vaseline. Ah, Elliot, always prepared for minor cuts and rashes, or for making backdoor games and frottage a bit more fun. 

I scooped out some of the jelly. It warmed as I rubbed it over my thighs. With long, slow strokes, I spread a layer of slick on my skin. I lay on my back, stretching the length of the bed. My thighs quivered as I moved my hand higher. I teased myself by holding off touching my prick just yet. Heat curled within me. A gentle rise of anticipation danced along my nerves. It increased as I pinched one of my nipples and finally moved my hand overmy erection. I moaned into the quiet.

It was too quiet. 

I rolled onto my side to face Elliot. “Don’t tell me you’re second guessing this.”

“No, just.” A troubled look came over Elliot’s handsome face. He stood half naked; shirt and vest off and his trousers open, suspenders hanging near his knees. I wanted to believe that he had been struck dumb by seeing me so eager and naked, laying out before him as a feast for the taking, like those men who were not quite comfortable with their desires. I never thought that Elliot was one of them. He never acted as such before, and he’d seen me in more compromising positions anyway. “You’re not trying to pay me back or something like that, right?”

“Don’t be stupid.” There was no need for Elliot to be insulting. If I wasn’t already naked and palming my prick, I’d have walked out. Instead, I rolled to my other side, my back towards him, and stroked myself with more purpose. “I’m celebrating. If I have to celebrate alone…”

I barely finished speaking and Elliot was on top of me. I presented and obvious invitation and he took it with all the advantage I gave him. Laughter bubbled up though my chest, burning out the sting from Elliot’s words.He meant well. I knew that. I could believe that. Better to concentrate on the heat of his prick sliding between my thighs and against my cheeks. On his hand against my skin, sliding up and down my side and taking hold of my prick around my own hand. On his dry lips pressing kisses to my neck, accompanied by the scratch of his mustache and the bite of his teeth on my skin.

I gave myself over to sensation. Nothing existed but the force of his prick thrusting between my legs, the friction of our hands on my cock, pressing against his warm weight at my back. Nothing mattered but the building heat of our desire, and gasp from my lungs as I fought to moan and laugh at the same time. 

Pressure built until all movement had to stop. My balls tightened and my release shot out in a rush. Elliot finished soon after. His spend painted my skin in a thin coating of quickly cooling heat. 

We lay together, panting together. A joyful quiet was in room, success at my grasp. I could build a life here. Chicago wasn’t yet a home, but I could build it. Elliot would help, continuing to give his friendship and support, and sometimes a more intimate companionship. 

He kissed the side of my head, also grinning. “Welcome to the Pinkertons, my dear boy. I think you’re going to like it here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> 1) Yes, Vaseline was a brand that would have been known in the 1880’s/90’s. It started being mass manufactured in 1870 after name patented his process for refining petroleum jelly. Also I like writing the word Vaseline more than I like writing the word petroleum. 
> 
> 2) Men sharing beds was a fairly common occurrence in the 1800’s, and your typical midwesterner wasn’t going to jump to “these men are sodomites” just because two friends share a bed. If anything, they would have taken bed sharing as an expression of charity and generosity. 
> 
> 3) The story of the Newspaper man and his failed card sharp is based a bit on the story of Chicagoan John Wing and his “boy” Tommy Phelan. Though Wing lived in Chicago during the late 1860's, I figured that his experiences were… not universal, but emblematic enough to think men liked him continued to live and work in Chicago though the 1890's. 
> 
> It’s also from Wing’s experiences that I take the notations on “man” versus “boy”. It feels to me that Elliot had a proprietary attitude towards Griffin. That he "made" Griffin and knew what was best for him, which leads to his comments about Griffin in “Threshold” to Whyborne, as well as the fact that Elliot was the one who signed Griffin over to the asylum and then never checked on him. 
> 
> John Wing’s diaries still survive, and his story is summarized in the first chapter of “The Boys of Fairy Town” by Jim Elledge.


End file.
